A Love is Only as Strong as Its Faintest Heart
by aghamora
Summary: She's Hanna Marin. She's fabulous. But for some reason, she can't stop thinking about the juvenile delinquent secretly living in her basement. - - Hanna/Caleb, oneshot collection.
1. Emergency Plan

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing you recognize.

**Note: **This could turn into a collection of oneshots, or could actually have a plot throughout. I haven't decided yet, but all I know is that there is little to none of Hanna/Caleb on here.

Also, this disregards whatever happens in tonight's episode.

* * *

_**A Love is Only as Strong as It's Faintest Heart**_

* * *

One

* * *

_**Emergency Plan**_

* * *

She's Hanna Marin. She's fabulous.

But for some reason, she can't stop thinking about the juvenile delinquent secretly living in her basement.

* * *

She can't sleep.

She's tried everything. She's taken a few of her mother's Ambien. She's counted enough sheep to fill the Rosewood Day auditorium. But still, his face floats in front of her closed eyes, relentlessly, endlessly, like an evil demon she cannot exorcise. Putting her pillow over her eyes does nothing. Listening to music does not block the thoughts. It's not like she _feels_ anything toward him. Um, just _no. _Even so, he continues to torment her, and as she climbs out of bed for about the twentieth time that night, she knows what she needs to do, before she'll be able to get any sleep tonight.

She creeps down the stairs, her hand running delicately along the railing – so lightly that, if she were to fall, it would give her no real support. Her hair appears to float on her head as an angelic white-gold halo in the moonlight, and though she knows she looks fabulous, she can't shake the feeling of being watched, judged, and analyzed, by some ever-critical eye. Even in the still of the darkness, she holds her head high, like a queen; walks slowly, as if she is in no rush to go anywhere. Oh, even when no one's there, she still doesn't allow herself to break her own rules, for fear of morphing back into her pudgy, geeky old self.

Hanna continues to descend at a snail's pace, testing each stair lightly with one foot before trusting it enough not to creak as she puts her full weight on it. Eventually, she makes it to the bottom, and then proceeds to scurry down the basement steps as well, her feet sprinkling the floor with tiny pitter-patter noises on the carpet. She takes less caution with this flight of steps, for her mother's too far away to hear anything now, and in seconds, she is standing in her basement. The couch where he is sleeping is off near the corner - mostly hidden from her vantage point at the bottom of the steps - and she has to walk across the room just to take sight of his slumbering form. Hanna takes a deep breath, and walks forward.

Well, she admits to herself, he does look kind of hot when he's sleeping. But she will not let herself like him; he's still too much of a mystery, too shady. She can't handle any more mystery in her life. Besides, he's _living in her freaking basement._

Hanna thinks he looks cold. He's shivering, and unconsciously pulling at the thin blanket covering him, almost as if someone's trying to take it away from him.

Brushing these thoughts aside, though, she approaches the couch and kneels down beside him. She shakes him lightly, and then stops herself all of a sudden, because she feels like a fool for doing this. But, all it takes is a firm reminder to herself that she must be fearless to make her continue.

"Caleb," she whispers his name, nudging his shoulder a bit more. She gets no answer, "_Caleb_."

He shifts slightly, disturbed by the voice calling his name.

"_Caleb_!"

"What the hell?" His eyes tear themselves open, and he flies up in his bed (couch?). Rubbing his sleepy eyes, all he sees at first is a head of unmistakable, thick blonde hair - but that's more than enough for his brain to identify the person in front of him instantly.

"Hanna," he's just relieved it's not her mother, but still aggravated, nonetheless, "…What are you doing here?"

Hanna Marin sure is a funny sight at three AM, he thinks. With no makeup, an old pair of pink pajama pants, and a loose shirt with the word _Fabulous_ printed on it, her night persona is merely a shadow of her daytime entity.

Hanna sighs, and seats herself down on the couch beside him, holding back the, _I live here, idiot_, she'd been planning to say. Because, technically, he lives here too, and she honestly doesn't know what she's doing down here at all. She knows she doesn't like, _love_ him, or anything. It's just a stupid crush. It's just a stupid, _stupid _insatiable longing to see him.

_Oh my God. I have a crush on the guy living in my basement._

"I…I couldn't sleep," she shrugs and lowers her voice to a whisper, dragging her eyes away from him. She grabs a fistful of the fabric on her shirt and digs her flawlessly manicured nails into it. She _really_ feels like an idiot for coming down here.

"So you decided that scaring the living crap out of me would fix that?" he retorts sharply. He holds back a yawn, and sinks back into the uncomfortable springs of the couch.

"You have living crap inside you?" she raises an eyebrow and grins feebly, and he only rolls his eyes.

"Funny. Haha. I'm going back to sleep." He lies back down and begins to pull the pillow over his face, but she stops him.

"Wait."

"What?" he groans.

"I was thinking…that we should have some sort of emergency plan. You know, in case my mom goes in the basement while you're here," she blurts out all at once, without thinking. Whatever happened to planning every single word before it came out of her mouth?

"I thought you said she never comes down here." This has caught his attention, and he removes the pillow from his eyes.

"I did. But…you never know. She might." She's making this all up on the spot, and it sounds _so_ incredibly pathetic. It makes her cringe.

"And this can't wait until a time that isn't three AM?" He has managed to pick himself up off the couch and make himself stand, so she rises as well.

"No," she says dryly, and flips on the basement light so the room is subjected to a deluge of brilliance. It makes them both see spots for a minute, until Hanna regains her vision and leads him to a closet halfway across the room, under the stairs, and yanks open the door. An old, pink pool noodle falls out, and she shoves it aside, gesturing to the open door with one hand, "If you hear someone coming, just… run over and go in here."

"That's the best you could come up with?" he deadpans.

"Hey, it's the middle of the night. Now… let's practice. Get in." He sighs, and reluctantly steps in, his mouth straightened into an irritated line, because he doesn't see why it's _necessary_ to practice this at all – let alone the middle of the night. Immediately, his idle eyes gravitate toward the items that occupy the many shelves in the closet. An old dollhouse, a bin of dress-up clothes, and a golden tiara all fit in with the light, feminine pink walls, but a pile of Barbies that have been utterly devastated by scissors and marker stand out amongst the other girly objects. He picks up a vandalized doll, whose face's been covered in black marker and whose hair's all been hacked off, and looks at her, stupefied.

"Why?" he holds it out so she can see. She smiles, grabs it from him, and chuckles under her breath.

"I hated… how much prettier she was than me," her weak laughter dies in sorrow, and her thoughts travel back to her miserable childhood, when she was always known as _the fat girl_. She remembers desecrating all her Barbie dolls one day, until she was satisfied that they looked horribly flawed like she'd believed she was. But the satisfaction did not last long, and now the pieces of plastic are nothing more than bad memories for Hanna that she's shut out, until now.

He sees that her mind has gone elsewhere, so he takes back the doll and sets it down on the pile of its defiled sisters once more, closing the door behind it. He walks over to her.

"Hey, Barbie… always looked like a tramp, anyway." She knows this must be his bizarre way of comforting her, and she smiles.

"…Thanks?" They both laugh for a second, and then settle on just looking at each other, drinking in the outline of the other's bodies like they'll forget what they look like in the morning. She shifts uncomfortably, but doesn't move until something dawns on her.

"You know… we… have school tomorrow. I need my beauty rest," she declares suddenly. He nods, and she starts up the stairs, "Goodnight."

"Hanna?" Standing in the shower of lunar light from the window, she turns around. His gaze is on her face, unbending, unyielding, "Thanks. For…everything."

"No problem." She ascends the stairs, and dashes up to her room.

Maybe it's the belated effects of the Ambien, or maybe it's from the multitude of numbered sheep bleating in the pastures of her mind, but Hanna Marin has never fallen asleep faster in her life.


	2. An Understayed Welcome

**Note: **Wow! The response to this has been amazing, and I really didn't expect it! Hanna/Caleb has quiet a large fan base, I must say. About thirty people put this on alert, and seventeen reviewed, so I felt the need to sit down and begin working on another chapter. Most of you liked the oneshot idea, and I myself was personally leaning toward that before, so this _will_ be a collection of oneshots/and or drabbles. I'd like them all to be unrelated, so that one could click a random chapter and read something without reading anything before it.

This one focuses more on dialogue; less description. I do like it, though.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing you recognize.

* * *

Two

* * *

_**An Understayed Welcome**_

* * *

When Hanna walks down into her basement one warm, Pennsylvania evening, she doesn't expect to find Caleb there at all, for he usually never comes back until he's sure her mother is asleep or out. And she certainly doesn't expect to see him, clad in his only hat, ugly plaid shirt, and torn jeans, stuffing his few possessions into a torn-up backpack and folding the blankets he'd been using into a surprisingly neat pile on the couch.

"What are you _doing_?" she hears her voice nearly break, and, before she can stop herself, she rushes over to him.

"What does it look like? Leaving," Caleb doesn't even bother to look up at her. The frigidness locked in his voice stops her dead in her tracks, and her mouth falls open, her jaw loosened from shock.

"W-why?"

He smirks, and continues to fasten his gaze to his belongings, shoving another piece of clothing into his backpack, "I think I've overstayed my welcome, don't you?"

"Caleb, you can-" she begins to say that he can stay as long as he needs to, but he cuts her off.

"Should've left Rosewood sooner, anyway. Everyone's here's so rich, and stuck-up," he says quietly, like he's talking to himself. Hanna frowns at the indirect insult.

"Why are you-"

"I didn't like it here in the first place. Pennsylvania's not for me. Too many golf courses and… sprinklers," he mutters with half a smile, as if he thinks it's funny. And it's not – not to Hanna, at least. Finally, finished collecting his things, Caleb zips the backpack, and the resulting sound shoots through Hanna's mind. It sends her head reeling, struggling for some sort of logic to grasp on to.

_No._ He can't go. She still wants something from him. Though, just _what_ she wants, she doesn't know.

"Don't go," she croaks out weakly. It's all she can think of saying. She doesn't know why she feels so desperate, so intent on making him stay. He finally looks up at her, and takes in the piles and piles of designer clothing covering her body, her flawless skin, perfect hair. It seems to prove his unspoken point, somehow, and he grins.

"You're just like all of them, Hanna," he observes this like he's never thought about it before. He throws the backpack over his shoulder and starts toward the stairs. She moves in his way.

"_Who_?" she finally manages to raise her voice to a high enough volume for him to notice. Caleb stops, but it's clear he is still resolved to go.

"Them. All the perfect Rosewood people. You're no different." She wonders why he ever thought she was. He steps to the side in an attempt to pass the human blockade, and, unyielding as ever, she moves in the same direction.

"What are you talking about?" she presses on.

He exhales.

"I saw you kissing that… douchebag, Shane-"

"_Sean_-"

"So my pronunciation isn't good enough for you?" his lips perk into the shape of a crescent again, but there is no humor in his eyes. No, they're only empty, cold.

"That was…that was because-" It had only been because of a message from A. She'd been meaning to collect the offered money and give it to him, for he really needed it. She'd only kissed him because she'd wanted to help with _something_. She certainly hadn't meant for Caleb – the very person she was trying to _benefit_ by kissing Sean - to see.

"Bye, Hanna." He pushes past her. She spins around, and halts him – again - before he can climb even two steps.

"Why does it matter to you? Why do you even _care_?" she cries, rage and bewilderment pounding in her mind, jumbling her thoughts, as if they are papers thrown about and collected in random order. She isn't sure she even fully comprehends what's going on, really. His backpack falls lower on his shoulder, and he looks down, and then back at her, then down again. She can tell she's weakening him, so she keeps going, "_Seriously_. You're not my boyfriend. It's _none of your business, _and you don't have to _move out_ because I… k-kissed someone else."

He scowls, and his backpack is raised again, its position a painful sign of his plan to leave, "Well, as the guy who formerly lived in your basement, I bid you farewell, princess."

Caleb turns once more, and Hanna knows, now, that she only has one last chance. She'll never be able to live with herself if she doesn't take it.

"Caleb I…" she gulps, and her throat makes an odd, pitiable squeaking sound. He's ascending the steps slowly; he clearly means to at least listen before he goes. She thinks of when she'd discovered he was been planning to go to Arizona. _You gonna miss me?_ he had asked, as if it was ludicrous for him to wonder if someone like Hanna Marin could ever miss him. So, she speaks, and her voice is gentle, sorrowful, "I'll miss you, if you go."

He makes no rush to turn around this time. It's as if it's all a game, she thinks: turn to, turn away from, turn to, turn away from again. But when he faces her this time, she doesn't see Caleb: bad boy of Rosewood Day. All she sees now is an unsure little child.

His tenacity seems to disperse. His arm goes slack. His backpack falls to the ground. The noise it makes is only a tiny _thump_ on the carpet, but to Hanna, it's the loudest sound in the world. It echoes in her head so loudly, _too_ loudly. She knows his staying shouldn't mean as much as it does to her.

It takes Caleb awhile to meet her eyes. She understands, because putting aside your pride and accepting help can never be easy. His movements are filled with hesitance and doubt, but, nonetheless, he walks back down the stairs, and throws his backpack back onto the couch, and takes off his hat. He puts his hands in his pockets.

"Okay. I'll stay. But only because…" he almost smiles, and she thinks he looks _sort of, kind of_ happy, "no one's ever told me they'd miss me, before."


	3. Business Venture

**Note: **Astounding response, as always. It means so much! I tried to make this one a bit longer, but since this is a collection of oneshots/drabbles, I can't guarantee length. I can, however, promise somewhat regular updates - as long as writer's block stays out of my way.

This is, I guess, my version of what a 'business' partnership between Hanna and Caleb would be like: Hanna providing the connections, Caleb providing the services.

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing you recognize.

* * *

Three

* * *

**_Business Venture_**

* * *

Hanna says to him, "There's a party tonight."

That's all Caleb needs to hear.

* * *

They pull up to the party only five minutes after it's supposedly begun, and it's already in full swing. The lakefront house is practically bumping with the bass of some dance beat, and the hot tub is already overcrowded with teenagers. A few boys are running outside near the shore, while crowds of girls stand around them, watching and giggling.

"Nice place," he comments, and she nods while yanking the key out of the ignition. She's wearing a tight red dress that is guaranteed to make heads turn; he's making absolutely no attempt to stand out and is wearing what he wears every day to school. They make an odd pair, and as they arrive together, several people give them funny looks. Hanna is used to being looked at, and spares not even a passing glance. Caleb, on the other hand, just stares back at the wide-eyed partygoers until they look away.

Inside, Hanna's uncertain of how beneficial this business venture will actually be in the end, seeing as eighty-five percent of the people here won't remember this party tomorrow morning. Nevertheless, she gets out of the car, grabs her purse, and takes a step toward the house, her heels crunching on the gravel driveway.

"It's Kayla Turner's family's lake house. They're, like, really rich," she says over her shoulder.

He nods, and slams the car door behind him, "Always good to know."

* * *

"You know, Caleb here is _really_ good with technology things."

He's almost amazed by how many connections she has.

"You've met my friend Caleb, right?"

His customer base must've expanded tenfold, by now.

"You know Caleb? He's sort of… a phone genius."

Wait, a phone genius?

"A phone genius? Really, Hanna?" he murmurs against a cheap plastic cup filled with something he thinks tastes like punch – and hopefully _is _punch. Caleb has to repeat himself so she can hear, because the hip-hop music blaring over the speakers is smothering even his thoughts.

"What?" she yells, clutching a similar cup and swaying out of rhythm with the music. As she dances in the middle of the room with one arm raised in the air, a few stray pieces of hair fall loose from the messy bun perched precariously on top of her head.

"I'm a phone genius?" he smirks over at a boy who has passed out on the wood floor and is gradually being undressed by his peers.

"Yeah. Totally. Oh, Molly!" she catches a short girl with red hair and designer boots on the sleeve, "Weren't you complaining yesterday about how slow the Internet on your phone is?"

"Uh, yeah. It takes, like, ten minutes to load Facebook," 'Molly' says, eyeing Hanna's so-called date warily, "Why?"

"Caleb over here can fix that. Here, I'll give you his card." Said boy raises his eyebrows when Hanna pulls a small gray card from her handbag and hands it off to the redhead in front of her, as he had no knowledge of the creations of such 'business cards.' Nervous in the presence of the sketchy new kid, the girl scurries off as fast as she can.

Instead of thanking her – as she'd expected he would – he pulls her into a dusty closet away from the party, and flicks on the light. She's just about pressed up against his chest, because the closet has barely enough space for one – let alone two – people. Her dress suddenly feels too tight. The walls feel like they're closing in on her. It's too hot. And the funny thing is, is that she knows she isn't claustrophobic.

"You made _business cards_?" he hisses. Boggled by his reaction, Hanna looks him over, and then nods slowly.

"Yeah. Why? Aren't you happy I'm spreading the word?" She thinks he looks mildly amused for a second, but that second passes, and then he goes back to just looking really pissed off.

"I don't know if it occurred to you yet, princess, but what I do isn't exactly _legal_. So you can't go around handing out _business cards_, okay? That's like putting up flyers for a drug dealer. It's evidence the police can use against me if I ever get caught. Understand?" he speaks in a harsh whisper, lines of fury and faint panic etched in his face. Hanna nods dumbly, but snaps out of it moments later.

"Well I'm _sorry_. I've never had many dealings in criminal business," she spits back. She folds her arms over her chest, and scowls. True, she's shoplifted before, but she thinks that that doesn't really count. He shakes his head.

"Exactly how many did you hand out?" Caleb exhales. Being patient with her is taking an enormous amount of willpower, and he's starting the regret asking her for assistance in the first place.

"Only like… three."

"Here. Give me the rest." She takes the remaining cards from her purse and thrusts them into his palm, her teeth grinding against each other in exasperation. His eyes scan over them, and he chuckles.

"_What_? What's so funny?" she seethes. What else could she have _possibly_ done wrong?

"_Caleb's Technological Services_. Why is there a picture of a gray hat next to that?" he chortles before stuffing the business cards into the back pocket of his jeans. She rolls her eyes. God, he's so _frustrating._

"Look, I thought it would be like your trademark or something, okay? Stop laughing," she hits his shoulder lightly, but he keeps on chuckling. In her mind, Hanna thinks that she's really only irritated by the fact that he can still make her feel like an idiot, and no one else can - but it's not like she'll ever admit that to anyone. Hanna Marin will not be made a fool of by _anyone._

Eventually, he calms himself and steps out of the closet. She leaves as well, with flushed cheeks, and an intense craving for a drink burning in the back of her dry mouth.

* * *

When Caleb and Hanna see each other again - two hours later on the outskirts of the dance floor - she's wasted, and he has four new customers. When he informs her of this, however, she only hiccups and snaps at him drunkenly, "Well, how _nice_ for you."

Her breath reeks so strongly of liquor that he can practically taste the alcohol in his mouth every time she exhales.

"Christ, girl, how much alcohol did you drink?" he asks, and her scowl deepens even more – if that's even possible. All this frowning is going to give her premature wrinkles, she thinks.

"I dunno. Kind of lost count after the… fourth c-cup," she tries to walk away from him, but only ends up tripping over her own two feet, crying out in surprise, and breaking a heel. He catches her before she hits the ground, though, and picks up her broken heel. Against her will, Caleb leads Hanna toward the door, before she can embarrass herself any further.

"Woah. Come on, princess. You're wasted. Time to go home." She growls, livid that he seems to be enjoying every second of this. He is _totally_ going to ruin her rep.

"I am not _wasted_-" she protests feebly, and he laughs.

"What should I call it then? Shitfaced? Trashed? _Intoxicated_? Man, you're going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning," he mutters. Caleb takes her arm and forces her to stumble out of the party, using him as a human crutch, until they reach the car.

Once there, he claims the driver's seat, much to Hanna's drunken chagrin.

"I can _drive_," she throws up her arms stubbornly and declares from outside the car door. She shivers in her sleeveless dress when a chilly breeze blows from the direction of the lake, and he scoffs.

"See, I'd appreciate not dying in a car accident, Hanna, so it's probably best you give me the keys." After a few seconds, she hands over the car keys, and takes her seat in the passenger's side with a huff. Caleb does nothing to start the car at first, though, instead only looking at Hanna with expectant eyes.

"What? Just drive already!" she growls at him.

"Safety first," he motions toward the seatbelt, which she grabs at furiously, and straps herself in place, "You know, if you're going to help me in this business, you'll need to tone down the alcoholism."

"I hate you _so_ much…" she drawls, leaning her head back against the headrest. He rolls his eyes, and she wants to yell at him for forcing her to leave the party when she'd only just begun having fun, but the drink is making it exceedingly difficult to keep arguing with him. Defeated, Hanna settles on brooding in silence for the rest of the ride home.

* * *

Approximately ten minutes later, they arrive at her house. Her mom is out, so Caleb doesn't have to sneak back into the house, and Hanna doesn't have to hide the fact that she's greatly intoxicated.

"We're home, princess," he tells her, as if he thinks the liquor has impaired her vision, too. He begins to get out of the car, but she stops him.

"Thanks for…driving me home."

She doesn't know why, but for some reason, he suddenly looks _incredibly_ good in the moonlight. It's as if it's reflecting off him in all the right places. She's too drunk to think rationally, and before her brain can kick in and stop her heart, she leans in and kisses him. It's an incredibly sloppy kiss - one trashed by the mind-numbing effects of alcohol - and it catches him totally by surprise. He doesn't push her off, though, and when she breaks the liplock, both teenagers' breathing is heavy. Once they separate, her hazy gaze is caught in his, and neither knows what to do. They listen to each other's breath in silence for a minute too long, mesmerized by the other's eyes.

So he clears his throat, and tries to gather his wits. It takes his mind a minute to realize why she's just kissed him, "You're very drunk, Hanna."

But the girl on the seat next to him does not hear a thing, for she is out cold.

* * *

And in the morning, a hungover Hanna stumbles out of bed, wearing the dress she was wearing last night, and immediately wants nothing more than to curl up and die. The sunshine is blinding, her head is throbbing, and she can't even remember what she did last night. In fact, the only thing she can vaguely remember is staggering out of a roaring party with someone holding her so she would not fall. Who that someone was, though, she can't recall. Groaning, she makes her way downstairs step by step, careful to avoid any windows or other sources of light, and eventually she comes upon Caleb, who is sitting at the counter. He's eating a bowl of cereal that's probably stale, and looks as though he's been waiting for her.

"_Please_ tell me we don't have school today," her voice is hoarse when she speaks, and, squinting, she makes her way over to the fridge. His head snaps in her direction, and he furrows his eyebrows, as this is the most disheveled he's ever seen fabulous prom queen Hanna Marin look.

"It's Saturday," he tells her in between spoonfuls of old cornflakes. She seems mostly at ease around him – well, the most at ease someone with a hangover can be - and something occurs to him out of the blue, "Do you remember _any _of last night?"

The business cards? The dancing? The broken heel? The _kiss_?

"Hardly. Why? Did I do something stupid?" she inquires, while desperately trying to shield her eyes from daylight with one hand. A full grin that she doesn't see develops on his face, and he snickers softly.

"Oh, you might say that…"


	4. Parallels

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing you recognize.

* * *

Four

* * *

**_Parallels_**

* * *

Hanna Marin hates her life. All twenty miserable years of existence. She hates her car, which just _had _to go and break down right outside Philadelphia, and make her late for class. She hates the cold rain, and the fact that it's succeeded in ruining her hair. And she hates the crummy gas station that she has to run into to get out of the rain and call someone, seeing as her cell phone died a few minutes ago.

So she jogs into the run-down building and storms up to the guy behind the counter, whose back is turned to her. She can't help but notice how tacky the bright yellow uniform he's wearing is, but that's not the matter at hand. Something about the backside of his head seems familiar. Nonetheless, she shakes the feeling off and clears her throat loudly. She rings the small bell on the counter several times.

"Excuse me! I need to use your phone!" she calls out, frustrated at his lack of concern for potential customers.

He doesn't even turn to her, "Phone's for customers only."

She thinks that her heart skips a beat, when she hears the trademark, naturally seductive voice she's only heard once before. She'd recognize it anywhere. She must gasp aloud, for he turns to her all of a sudden, with a raised eyebrow. For a fleeting instant, Caleb looks surprised, too, but that passes and a mask of indifference is yet again printed on his face.

"_Hanna Marin_," he says the name slowly, as if relishing in the sound of each syllable in her name as it falls off his tongue. Ah, it's been far too long. Though he doesn't show it, he cannot deny the fact that he actually cares she's remembered him. She's probably the only person who's ever bothered to remember him, "What brings the prom queen to a shitty Shell station on the outskirts of Philly?"

She gulps. Her lungs are struggling for air, as if she's just run a mile, "M…m-my car broke down and…"

God, she's forgotten how he used to make her feel. The mystery in his eyes still has not been solved, it seems, and his hair looks nearly the same as it did years ago. Her heart begins to beat faster, harder, as if it's trying to burst out of her chest and kill her. She nearly feels giddy with delight, but in the back of her head, a voice is urging her to turn away from this counter and leave, before he can steal her heart and break it again.

She can't fall for him again, now. It isn't right. He left, and he broke her heart, and she isn't going to give him the opportunity to do it again. She may be a fool in some aspects of life, but she's not a complete idiot.

But when he says, "Walk with me, Marin," she doesn't say no. She follows him to the door, stops in her tracks when she sees he's leaving the building, and doesn't hesitate to inform him that it is, in fact, pouring down rain outside.

"You haven't changed at all," he observes, and his words sound funny to her ears, as if they're a somber, dark joke with little humor. _What do you mean?_ she wants to ask, but stays quiet as he leads her outside and to the sheltered area near the gas pumps. The fumes make her eyes water; he doesn't even flinch. He seems as though he's gotten used to it. Seconds after first breathing in the frigid air of the outside, Caleb pulls out a cigarette and begins to light it. Horrified, she smacks it out of his hand.

"What are you _doing_? This is a _gas station_!" she cries, and he looks amused. He does, however, drop the unlit cigarette to placate her.

"Well, dying in an explosion is quite a way to go, isn't it?" She sighs, exasperated, and steers the course of the conversation away from explosions and death.

"Why aren't you in Arizona?" her question comes out sounding more bitter than she'd intended, but she _is_ bitter, so she doesn't really feel bad about it.

"You know my friend in Flagstaff? He died, a year before I got there," he says, "Stayed with his widow for a couple days, then came back to Pennsylvania. I've been in Philly ever since."

_Why? Why did you come back, if you'd finally gotten out?_

"Why didn't you come back t…to _me_?" her chest hurts, and her face feels like it's reddening. Her airways are constricted, and she kind of feels like crying. _He came back. He came back, but he didn't look for you. He didn't come back to you. Who ever does come back for you, anyway?_

"You were better off without me, Hanna. Without a guy secretly living in your basement." They stop walking near the gas pump closest to the road. The cars speed by, the rain _pitter patters_ on the ground, trees rustle near the horizon, and Hanna urgently wishes for quiet. She falls back against the pump, then hastily realizes what she's leaning on and moves away from the filthy metal. He, on the other hand, places a hand against the pump and leans on it. It makes her realize how different they still are.

"No I wasn't. You _left_ me. No goodbye. Not even a _note_," her voice is gradually escalating in pitch. Staring at the boy who shattered her teenage spirit, she wills herself to hate him with every bit of her strength, with every drop of blood in her body. But hate him she cannot.

"I was not aware I meant so much to you," he drawls out, but does sound almost remorseful. Or maybe she's just imagining that.

"To hell with that; you _knew_ you did," she chokes out, for she knows that he knew, even back then, that they meant something to each other, that they were more to each other than another body to warm a lonely night. She notices how he's stranding a good two feet away from her. Somehow, Caleb seems as though he knows that he should keep his distance, and Hanna doesn't know if she's grateful or if she wants him to move closer. She wipes a falling tear from one eye, and hopes he hasn't noticed, but he has. Her words are trapped between anger and sorrow, and come out sounding hollow.

Terrified of breaking down, she changes the subject, "You know what? You should go back to your cash register duties. You'll get…get in trouble."

He shrugs and tells her, "I hate this job, anyway."

"Caleb…" she notices that a piece of his hair has blown in his face, and, with evident hesitance, takes her hand and brushes it aside. He can't say that it doesn't make him feel anything, but the moment she withdraws her hand is the moment when he first catches sight of the sparkling diamond on her ring finger. Only a fool wouldn't know what it means. And Caleb is not a fool.

Many emotions attack him at once, but he manages to put on a careless façade as usual, and comments, "That's a lovely engagement ring, princess. Who…who's it from?"

His voice wavers a bit, but he clears his throat, and the tremble is gone. He can't make himself not care. He can't even _pretend_ that he doesn't.

"Lucas. Lucas Gottesman," she looks down at the old cracked concrete, and bites her lip.

"Mrs. Hanna Gottesman. Has a certain ring to it." He kicks a pebble a few feet, and watches it bounce along the ground, without direction, without a certain future. He wonders if he's still bouncing along aimlessly, and if Hanna has already found the place she belongs. Or if she's still roaming the ground as he is, searching for some unknown feeling, some unspoken satisfaction.

"Yeah," she agrees, but her accord is insincere. In fact, in her mind, the name sounds all wrong. It doesn't flow. She doesn't like it. She_ doesn't. _It's too long and awkward and hard to pronounce.

They both want the following silence to feel comfortable, to feel as though they don't have to fill it with words that'll have come years too late to change where they are now. Anything they can say to each other in this moment will do nothing to fix them, really. Their time for reunion has passed. They've moved on, haven't they? They're pebbles that have been kicked down two separate paths that run parallel to the other: always nearby, but never intersecting. It's as if they can look at each other but can never touch again.

"Do you love him?" he looks her in the eyes. Her knees feel weak. She thinks that, maybe, he's scared to hear her answer. Still, she's always found it impossible to lie to him.

"No," Hanna will not look at him as she says it. She almost feels ashamed, though she knows that they are nothing more to each other than ex-lovers, and that she owes him no explanations - no _nothing_ - after he suddenly left Rosewood halfway through junior year. She owes him nothing - not after all the tears she's shed over him.

"Then why marry him?"

"He loves me. A lot…_Too much_." It's true. The level of adoration Lucas has for her never ceases to amaze and confuse her. It's not something she deserves; not from a guy like him. Often, his unconditional love makes her feel guilty, when she cannot seem to find the same for him, when she royally screws things up and he forgives her without thinking twice, "I-I care about Lucas too much to hurt him. I don't deserve him, but…he doesn't deserve to get hurt."

Caleb looks off in the distance. His eyes take on the far-away look that they get when one's mind travels to another time, as it plays a montage of memories. She asks the skies if he's thinking of those few short months in high school when they'd been together, happy. Hanna receives no answer. Those times are gone. The heavens must have forgotten them by now.

"It's funny. You always struck me as the kind of girl who would go for the wild and… passionate. The kind who'd never settle down. The kind who'd…never stay just so someone else wouldn't get hurt. The fearless kind." His words hit her right in her heart, because she'd once thought that, too. Maybe she was fearless then, but now… she is no longer.

"Then I guess I struck you wrong, Caleb Rivers," she murmurs softly. His words don't make her angry, for, with all her heart, she believes they're true. She glances inside the store, and sees a line of furious customers waiting at the cash register, ringing the bell and shouting to the empty room. It dawns upon her that it's her time to go, "You need to get back inside. Like, now. But, can you just…answer me honestly, for once, though? Before you go?"

"Sure," he puts his hands in his pockets. He wonders how much he'd do for her, how many questions he'd answer for her, how long he'd listen to her. It scares him to think that he himself doesn't even have the answer.

"Why did you leave?" He makes one last attempt to smirk at her, but it falls flat, and his expression only ends up looking like he's in horrid physical pain.

"I thought there wasn't anything here for me," his eyes meet hers, and her stomach turns. Hanna swallows many years' worth of words, tears, and promises in one gulp, and oh, does it _burn_ her throat, "I was wrong, you know. There was something here for me. But I told myself she'd move on…" he grins without gladness, "…and look at her now."

_And look at her now_. Marrying a man she'll never be in love with. Living a happy life in total and complete misery. Yes, she knows for a fact that she's moved on, but not to a life of contentment.

He turns all of a sudden, but stops after taking a mere four steps. He returns to his typical, arrogant self speedily, as if he's only just remembered who he is and what he acts like… and why he doesn't let himself get close to people, "Should I expect a wedding invitation in the mail?"

The future Mrs. Gottesman purses her lips, and, desolately, shakes her head _no._


	5. Bad Girl Stripes

**Note: **This one is a return to high school, and a return from the angst since some of you don't really seem to like that very much. I usually enjoy writing angst more than fluff, because I think it gives you space to add a lot more emotion into the piece. Anyway, I can't promise that that will be the last angst you'll ever see in this collection, but for now, here's something happier.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing you recognize.

* * *

Five

* * *

**_Bad Girl Stripes_**

* * *

One crisp Friday morning, Hanna pulls Caleb into the AV closet with an interesting request.

"I need your help," she says, as she closes the door behind them and turns on the light. She tucks a lock of long blonde hair behind her ear and rubs her glossy lips together anxiously. He always seems to make her anxious – but in a good way, she thinks. Not the bad kind of anxious she gets whenever her phone buzzes with a new text message from an unknown number…

Caleb cocks an eyebrow, and, as if drawn like a moth to a flame, moves closer to her.

"What? You need me to break into a deaf person's phone now?" he asks sarcastically.

"No," she no longer gets aggravated at his smartass comments, and finds herself grinning like a fool and fighting the urge to lean in and kiss his grin away. In the dim light, his eyes look almost totally black; as if they could entrap in her soul right now and never let it go. Though the stuffy closet is far from cold, she shivers, "I want you to help me do… something bad."

"I think I like where this is headed," he wriggles his eyebrows as his gaze travels away from her face. She hits him on the shoulder, and adjusts her top so it reveals less of her chest.

"Not like that, perv. I'm just tired of being such a…goody two shoes. I'm tired of always following the rules." Truthfully, she misses the adrenaline rush she once got from shoplifting. It had made her feel alive, unsafe. She feels unsafe quite frequently now, but not in the way she enjoys. More in the _'someone is stalking me'_ way. Meanwhile, he moves closer to her yet, and it's making it much harder to draw breath. Her skin breaks out into a field of gooseflesh. Hanna swallows when one of the hands of his fingerless gloves encloses hers slowly, and begins to lead her out of the closet.

"Then I'm your guy, princess," he half-whispers in her ear, "I knew you'd want to earn those bad girl stripes sooner or later."

"I'm not getting a tattoo," she informs him of this firmly, as they exit the tiny room and stroll down the empty hallway. She narrows her eyes, "Where are we going?"

"You'll see," he replies.

* * *

He brings her to the back of the school, near the dumpster. She doesn't understand why he's taken her here, because all she can think of right now is how badly it stinks. The day is a chilly one, and, intelligent as she is, she's chosen to wear a sleeveless, pink top that's clearly more suited for the summer months. Ah, the price she pays for fashion.

Caleb shakes his head and rolls his eyes when he notices her shivering. He slides his jean jacket off his body and offers it to her, disregarding the fact that he'll likely be freezing without it. She puts it on, and inhales the strong aroma of the cheap cologne she's come to enjoy, then finally speaks up, "Why are we back here?"

He pulls a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of what appears to be his only pair of jeans, and holds one out to her, "Well, I don't think the principal would be too happy to see us smoking _inside_ the school, would she?"

For an instant, she freezes. Her muscles tense, and seem to harden, until they feel like stone. In a second, her brain is paralyzed. She's never smoked before. In all honesty, Hanna's never _wanted_ to, because it makes the teeth yellow and causes your breath to stink – at least according to eighth grade health class. But, as he looks at her with those eyes of his, and extends the tempting poison to her, she feels all her self-control melting away. It may be bad, but that's what she's here for, isn't it?

"Y-you smoke?" she stutters, before taking the cigarette in between two trembling fingers and examining it charily. The tiny thing somehow seems menacing to her, and she has half a mind just to drop it on the ground and give up on this altogether.

"Yeah," he takes one for himself and puts the package away. He sees her troubled eyes and chuckles, "No need to worry, Marin; I'm not an addict. And I haven't smoked in your house."

"Why do you do it?"

He shrugs, and offers his red lighter to her after touching the small flame to his cigarette first. She attempts to light up several times, but each time, fails miserably and nearly burns her fingers with the fire. She's sure it makes her look incredibly lame. Eventually, Caleb shakes his head, takes the lighter out of her hands, and ignites the cigarette himself, letting his face hover near hers a few seconds longer than needed as his eyes sweep over her uneasy expression. She looks at the thing, and finds that she has no clue what to do with it.

Her terror must be obvious, for he notices her holding the cigarette as if it is about to explode, and observes aloud, "You've never smoked before."

"No."

She takes in a deep breath of courage, and puts the cigarette in her mouth. Right off the bat, she is already not taking a liking to being bad. Reluctantly, she takes a long drag out of it - perhaps _too_ long - and when she does, the toxic smoke promptly crawls down her throat, and comes to rest in her lungs. A scorching sensation spreads within her esophagus, and she starts to cough. It feels like a fire has been lit inside her body, and the smoke is blocking her airways. The coughing is quiet at first, but escalades when she realizes that she can hardly breathe in at all. It doesn't take her long to conclude that smoking is nothing but _painful_. She isn't sure how he enjoys doing it.

"Are you okay?" he drops his cigarette and crushes it under his shoe in a matter of seconds, even though he wasn't finished with it. She manages to stop coughing long enough to nod and croak out a hoarse, _'I'm all right,' _but he remains unconvinced, and gestures toward the cold ground, "Sit down before you keel over."

She does so, and he seats himself beside her, but she still doesn't feel any better. She can only think of how she really hopes this is not going to make her clothes smell like smoke, because she _just_ bought this shirt yesterday.

Oh, being bad is really working out for her, isn't it?

"Do you feel _badass_ now?" His expression is scorning her misery, she thinks, and Hanna growls under her breath.

"I just feel sick, thanks to you," she wheezes. Her lungs no longer feel like they're clogged with smoke. Now, she's only extremely pissed.

"As I recall, you were the one who wanted to do something bad," he smirks, "I only helped. An... accessory to the crime."

"What else do you do?" She realizes that she's still holding the cigarette, and so she lets it fall to the ground, and repeatedly smashes it with her heel, watching as the offending thing is reduced to a pile of dirty ashes on the pavement.

"What?"

"What else do you do, that makes you so bad? What's your idea of fun? Vandalizing stuff? _Shoplifting_?" He laughs.

"My idea of fun is hacking phones, princess. I'm not a vandal or a thief," he responds. Her expression changes to one riddled with confusion, and he can't deny that her preconceived notions of his supposed _'bad boy'_ hobbies make him want to laugh. It's oh so very typical. Everyone in Rosewood looks at him like he's about three seconds from jumping them, and he thinks that she's the only one who's ever bothered to get to know him enough to realize that he's not really a threat to anything but phones. And even _she_ thinks he participates in conventional bad boy activities.

"Then how did you get such a bad rep around here?" she demands, and he shrugs.

"Don't know. I guess rich people are naturally afraid of guys with long hair and torn jeans."

She smiles, and the last hint of blazing in her throat comes to an end, all of a sudden.

"So you're not a bad boy after all," she declares softly. Hanna leans in closer to him, drawn in like a magnet to its polar opposite, and he follows suit, until their lips are just centimeters from brushing against the others. Her heart is hammering underneath her ribcage so fast that she's sure he must be able to feel it. She sure as hell can.

"Guess not," he whispers back.

She bites her lip, and, next thing she knows, their lips have collided. She puts her hand on his shoulder and pulls him closer to her, and she can't help but take notice of the taste of cigarette smoke that lingers on both their tongues. His hand somehow becomes entangled in her hair, and she likes it there. She feels like it belongs. For a second, Hanna forgets who they are – even _where_ they are. She knows she's definitely not supposed to be making out with the guy living in her basement, but, for the first time in a while, she's broken a rule… and it feels too good for her to bother regretting it.

"Smoking, cutting class, _and_ kissing the guy living in your basement. Think you've earned those stripes, Marin," he tells her when they come up for air, tilting his head to one side. Even with his jacket on, he sees that she's still shivering, and so, slowly, he wraps his arm around her shoulders.

"I don't… think I want them anymore…" she muses quietly, her eyes lost in the dreary sky all of a sudden, since she has no idea what to say to him or how to look him in the eyes. His presence never fails to overpower her senses and throw her brain into confusion, even back before they'd first kissed. Somehow, any word he says echoes in her brain doubly as loud as any normal one would; anything he does means twice as much as anything anyone else does. She can't seem to wrap her mind around it. But when he puts his arm around her, it makes her heart beat twice as fast as it would with anyone else, makes her smile twice as much.

In reply, he shrugs once more, and says, "I always liked good girls better anyway."


	6. Stupidity

**Note: **After Monday's episode, I just couldn't not write angst. It's nothing too terrible, though; I promise. This is written in second person point of view, in Hanna's eyes, and it's more of a drabble-ish thing. Would take place some time after she discovers the agreement between Caleb and Jenna in next week's promo, but before she's told Caleb she knows anything. I don't know the exact timeline of the show, so I'll say about a month after 1x19.

Also, I know the summary for this fic isn't exactly true any more, but I think I'll keep it the same regardless.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing you recognize.

* * *

Six

* * *

**_Stupidity_**

* * *

You are so stupid.

Stupid for looking at him more than twice, as anything more than a shady new guy. Stupid for inviting him into your home. Stupid for caring about him. Stupid for letting him kiss you. And so so_ so _stupid for letting him take your virginity.

You should've seen it coming, should've seen that there was another side to him that you knew existed but wanted to ignore. You should've realized that his sketchiness was not all a façade. You should've known that he never had good intentions. You should've listened to your friends and your mom. You should've known that something was off, that no boy was _that_ good and _that_ nice and _that _caring. Oh, you _should've_, but you _didn't_. Or did you?

He was just a spy. All he ever wanted was money. He never cared about you; he cared about getting cash by toying with your heart. Who does care, really? Everyone just seems to have some ulterior motive. There is no such thing as a simple, pure feeling without anything hidden behind it. You knew that, deep inside. You knew that… but, like a fool, you pretended otherwise.

You're sitting on your bathroom counter, your distant eyes staring at the shower. That stupid _fucking_ shower. It appalls you to think that he's touched nearly everything in here, tainted the things with his lying hands. You feel like throwing up. You want to hate him so badly that it eats at you from the inside - like you've swallowed an acid - but you can't make yourself do it. You _can't_. And this inability to loathe him hurts you even more, because it proves that he has succeeded in doing exactly what he set out to do.

The clock on the wall is ticking. Slowly. Too slowly. You know he needs to use this bathroom soon, but damn it if you're going to move just for his sake. You cannot bring yourself to tell him that you know he's been spying on you, and you can't bring yourself to act like nothing has happened, either. You haven't looked him in the eyes all day. You think he knows something is up, and he doesn't deserve to be told otherwise.

"Hanna? School's in thirty minutes; I need to shower!" you hear him call out from behind the locked door. You cannot leave just yet, though. He can wait. You think you want to hurt him like he's hurt you, but you're not really going to do that by depriving him of a shower, are you?

"Just a second!" you call back through clenched teeth. It's a lie, but everything he ever said to you was a lie as well, no? Every kiss was a kiss fueled by ill intentions; every touch was a touch stolen for the love of money.

"That's what you said five minutes ago," he replies, and you growl.

"Just another minute, and…" you check the time on your cell, "like, fifteen seconds."

"Why the exact time estimate?"

"I'm moisturizing! If I take it off too soon, it won't work."

"Okay, okay. Fine."

You let out a breath, and lean back against the mirror. For a second, you look at your profile in the glass, tracing your hand lightly over your smooth skin. You know you're pretty. But what you don't know is how he could bear to betray someone like you: the perfect, beautiful prom queen. What gave him the right to look at you with so much adoration, and then lie to your face?

If you're so pretty, why can't you find a guy you love that loves you too?

Abruptly, you wonder just _when_ his intentions stopped being good. Or were they ever good at all? Did they stop being good when Jenna discovered he was living under your roof and bribed him into spying? Had they soured long before that? Were you just a conquest, someone he wanted to make fall in love with him for fun? Were you a joke to him? Did he secretly laugh at you, or did you actually mean something to him? _Do_ you, still? You have so many questions. You have almost no answers.

Shit, are you _so_ unreasonable in wanting _someone_ to care about you? You don't think so. It's a simple, uncomplicated desire. It's what you think everybody wants. He might have wanted it too, but in the end, the promise of money won out over a shot at love.

You wonder if promises are always better than chances.

You both are not that different, you think for a fleeting moment. You're both willing to do despicable things for cash, to hurt people you care about. You're willing to betray to benefit yourself, and so is he. He's right: you're both working an angle, and have been for longer than you probably realize. You've always been turning things around so that they go your way. You made Lucas fall in love with you, and, likewise, Caleb made you fall in love with him. You both did it for all the wrong reasons. Maybe this is your comeuppance. Maybe you're finally getting what you deserve. But you know you'll never forgive him; just like Lucas may never forgive you.

Caleb doesn't deserve forgiveness. But then again… neither do you.

You don't want to blame him, of course. You want to blame Jenna. That _bitch. _She tempted him, offered him the one thing he simply could not refuse. His weakness. You don't really know whom to blame, though. It's Jenna's fault in the end, isn't it? _Isn't it_? She understood the situation and she intentionally screwed things up, but he..._he_ gave in.

You honestly can't believe you ever told him about your five summers at fat camp. You can't believe you ever trusted him, opened up in front of him. He's a good actor, though, isn't he? You almost laugh. He's a bad seed. He _is_ the Artful Dodger; the bad guy. Hell, he could have lied about the situation with his parents, too, to achieve some sort of fake, mutual bond of trust.

You bring your knees to your chest, and silently tell the clock to go faster. A minute has never seemed longer, more torturous. You feel the need to hate him for what he's making you do, but yet, you _still_ can't find the will to hate. You're caught in between feelings. You want to cry and scream. You want to slap him. Yet, you also want to throw yourself into his arms. You want to believe that he can still comfort you.

You hear your heart beat, and you think you might be sweating. You choke back tears, because you've only just applied your makeup. The dread in the pit of your stomach will not be calmed, though, however much you try to ignore the feeling. You're a nervous wreck, and your hands are shaking. You think the room is spinning, but when you blink, and hear a tiny _beep_, everything becomes ear-splittingly silent. Your throat threatens to close up. You take a deep breath, and walk over to the toilet. You've hardly taken another breath before your knees give out. To break your fall, your hands make contact with the cool tile. Your heart is pounding, and you can barely steady your hands long enough to pick up the small piece of plastic resting on the back of the toilet.

And as you stare at that positive pregnancy test with sickened eyes, you feel _infinitely_ stupider.


	7. Stupidity II

**Note: **A few of you wanted me to continue the plot from last chapter, and, since I've been lacking inspiration lately, I figured: why not? Though I believe this type of plot is overdone, it's only for one more chapter.

This was supposed to be a collection of disconnected oneshots, but oh well…

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing you recognize.

* * *

Seven

* * *

**_Stupidity II_**

* * *

"Y-you can shower now."

Your voice shakes wildly as you storm out of the bathroom; you've obviously been crying, and you can't find the energy to act like you haven't. You know he'll notice. You feel the cool plastic of the pregnancy test in the middle of your fisted hand, and it seems like it's blistering your skin. When you glance at him as you pass by, you can't help but feel so, _so_ stupid.

"Hanna?" he calls after you. You flinch at the sound of his voice, but keep walking toward your room at the end of the hall anyway. He's lied to you, _spied_ on you, and you can't rely on him ever again. You don't know whom you can rely on, really - but just not _him_. You can't trust him to stay. However, you can't trust him to go, either, if you tell him. You can't be sure he'll run out.

You slam your door behind you, locking it, and as you hurry over to the bed and collapse on your white sheets, the test falls from your grasp and lands on the pink carpet. You make no effort to pick it up. Instead, you stare at it, as it finally all sinks in. You're _pregnant_. Oh, you want it to go away. You want this all to disappear. It is more frightening than your darkest nightmare, you think. Scarier than A, than Ian, than the fact that someone is watching your every move, uncovering your every secret.

You bury your head into your pillow and let the tears in your eyes fall silently. For the first time in what seems to be forever, you feel helpless. You feel so _weak_. You remember hating this feeling so much, back when you weren't popular. You'd felt chained down, unable to move, and that's precisely how you feel now. You have no control over anything around you. Not Caleb. Not A. Not Ian. Not even what's happening inside your own _body._

"Are you all right?" Caleb knocks on your door. You want to tell him to get out of your house, to leave you alone. You want to tell him that after what he's done to you, your life is ruined, _over._ You _still_ want to tell him you hate him.

"Fine." Lie. It's a lie. You're both liars. Truth only complicates things, does it not? You could break up with him now, give him a lie as a reason, throw him his backpack, and send him on his way, but you know you won't. You can imagine yourself doing it, and the image causes more pain than it does satisfaction. You cannot seem to find it in yourself to hurt him out of spite and spite alone.

"Were you crying?" You don't answer. He taps on the wood once more, then sighs, "I'll pick the lock, Hanna."

Still, you say nothing. Before he enters the room, all you hear is a soft click, as he disables the lock and lets himself in. You sniff, and wipe at your eyes. You do not, however, bother to hide the test lying conspicuously in the middle of the carpet, and you're not sure why. You don't have the strength to keep this secret from him, though he's hidden much more from you. You think that you've fooled yourself into believing that he can make it all go away, when he can't, when _no one_ can.

He opens the door, and takes one step forward before he sees you curled up on your bed, your makeup running and your teary eyes outlined with red. He freezes. Your arms clutch at your body as if it is falling apart, and you pull your legs up to your chest. When you let out a broken sob, bewilderment fills his eyes.

"Hanna," he says your name cautiously, his voice low. He advances toward you bit by bit. You bite your lip, and sit up, and he speaks again, "What's going on? Are you okay?"

He doesn't see the pregnancy test resting silently on the carpet – his eyes are locked on you in a way that makes your body tremble – so you take a breath, and point it out to him with a shaking hand. He bends down, picks it up, and you know he understands in an instant. At first, you think that he only looks incredibly stunned, as he seats himself next to you on the bed, and sets the small piece of plastic in the space between you. His eyes are distant, his gaze far away. You wonder if not telling him would have been easier, but it's too late now. You think he looks like he wants to hold your hand to comfort you, but you're probably just imagining it. It doesn't seem like he knows what to say or how to touch you, right now, so he only sits beside you mutely, his eyes darting to and from your face, his arms resting uselessly by his sides.

You sit quietly for a moment, before you calm your voice and speak up, "Y-you were spying on me the _whole time_." The words sound too sad, and you gulp. You want to sound angry – _feel_ angry – but all you feel is sorrow. It doesn't anger you that he's been lying to you; it only really makes you miserable.

Shocked and caught off guard, he looks at you, and you hold his gaze for a second before looking away.

"Jenna offered me cash. I messed up, Hanna. I…" he stops talking suddenly. He's clearly preparing for you to start screaming at him, but you don't. You wait for him to continue, instead, and after a moment, he does, "I never… meant to actually care. About you."

You brush a tear from your cheek, and sniffle. You don't think he actually means it, of course, because all guys say things they don't mean to get out of trouble. For a second, you regain some of your composure, "Yeah, well. Look where that's gotten us," you pause, and tuck a messy strand of hair behind your ear. A smile tugs upward at your frowning lips, but doesn't climb to your eyes, "Don't feel like you need to stay in Rosewood. Because of…this, I mean. Go…go to Arizona if you want to. Don't stay if you don't want to stay. You-you have Jenna's money, don't you? Go. Use it. D-do what you meant to do. All along. Go...go ahead." _Go ahead. Break my heart._ _Do it, if you want to._

You almost start crying again. Your heart feels like it's going to collapse from all the feelings bombarding it. You walk over to your window, and brush the thin, cream-colored drapes away from it, gnawing on your lip. You stare out on the street blankly, and, out of the blue, you feel his arms wrap around you. You make no attempt to free yourself, for - although you know you shouldn't - you feel secure in the arms of this spy, this _traitor_. Your mind tells you to break free and run away; your body doesn't move a muscle.

"I don't want to go, Hanna," he whispers the words in your ear so confidently that it makes you think he must be unaware of what he's tying himself down to. His breath tickles the skin on your neck; your knees grow less and less inclined to wholly support your body. For a moment, you consider the fact that, maybe, he does truly care about you. You consider that, perhaps once upon a time, he had good intentions. You think that he might make good on his promise in the end, and stay.

So you take your hand and, still facing the window, sew your fingers in with his.

"Yes you do," your voice is hoarse and pathetic when you reply, for you have a hunch that your words will not be ones to ring with truth. His grip on you tightens so slightly that you hardly notice, but it's enough to make you realize that he really _doesn't_ want to go.

"No I don't." You believe him right then, although his track record with lying is not good. You don't think he'd lie to you about this – even after all the falsehoods he may have told you in the past. You feel his hand move down your body, until it comes to rest just above your stomach. You almost gasp, and tell him to stop, but he is the one to talk first, "I never had a dad, Hanna. And it sucked."

Those words are what make you turn to him and allow yourself to fall into his chest, giving up your flimsy resolve to hate him. You aren't crying, but you think that you're both trying to comfort each other, in some way. You close your eyes, and forget yourself, for a moment.

And oh, do you curse yourself for giving in so easily.


	8. Happy

**Note: **The point of view switching was intentional, and the second person POV was merely an experiment. I only wrote it that way to express Hanna's thought process in, what I thought, was a better way. This chapter changes back to third person. The setting for this one would be between 1x20 and 1x21- before Caleb leaves - and is totally unrelated to the last two chapters/oneshots. Not really any romance; just interaction.

On another note, was anyone else disappointed about how the writers played out Hanna/Caleb on the show? Their irresolute ending made me want to scream. They can't just give them scenes like that and send him away! Personally, I think he'll be back at least for the season finale, because it doesn't make much sense for a character to play such an important role for half the season and then leave one episode before the finale. And they simply can't end a relationship like that.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing you recognize.

* * *

Eight

* * *

_**Happy**_

* * *

She hasn't gone into the guest room since he left. She's terrified that it will smell like him, feel as though he's still there, and she can't have that. He's gone for good, this time. Never to return. She wants no reminder of his eyes, his face, his scent. She simply wants to erase it all from her memory. It all poisoned her, blinded her, so that she was oblivious to his real intentions. It makes her feel like such an _idiot._

Almost a week after he leaves, though, is the first day she visits the guest room again. She's never gone in there much, and she can't say the space meant anything to her before he stayed there – but the instant she takes a step into it, she wants to break down and cry. The bed is made; it's blankets hugging the mattress tightly as if they know no one will crawl under them again for a long while. The curtains are drawn, eradicating all but a small trickle of daylight from the room. The antique dresser drawers are empty. It's clear that this room is no longer occupied; it has that lonely, unused bedroom feeling, she thinks. It makes tears spring to her eyes. The air only smells like dust… not like him.

She places one foot in front of the other until she's seated herself down on the bed. The old, creaky mattress squeals under her weight, as she slowly lays her body down. Suddenly, she realizes that she can't smell him on the sheets, either. Her mom must have washed them. Or, perhaps the traces of him have simply drifted off, thinking it best that they not linger. She runs her hand along the rough fabric of the blanket, and bites her lip. On an impulse, she tugs open the top drawer of the nightstand to see if anything of his remains. She finds nothing but dust and a spider that looks like it's been dead for months, so she reaches down and pulls open the bottom compartment with a swift jerk of her arm. She feels like a lovesick fool for doing this, for letting him make her heartbroken enough to go searching for belongings of his that are likely not there.

However, in this drawer, she does find something: an old photograph flipped on its backside. The reverse side of the picture is blank, which means it cannot be hers because her mother always carefully writes the date on all images she takes. She turns it over, and brushes a thin coating of dust off the once-glossy surface. Underneath the yellow of age, she sees that the photograph is of a little boy, held tightly by a smiling woman outside an old townhouse. At first glance, the woman looks happy enough, but the longer she looks, the more she can tell that the gladness written on her face is forged, and that she appears horribly miserable, really. She thinks the woman looks exhausted, but her eyes do not linger long on her, and instead move to the child she is holding in her arms.

She doesn't have to look long to realize that the boy is Caleb, for his hair's color is just about the same as it is now, and his eyes are still as piercing in film as they are in real life. He's smiling, too, but his smile is not faked. She thinks that no young child can ever fake joy, for they don't really know what _faking_ is. They simply _feel_ joy – pure, unadulterated delight. She smiles, for she's never seen him look this cheerful. She's seen him look withdrawn, smug, sad – but never truly happy, like he does in this picture. He couldn't have been any more than three, she thinks. The woman must be his mother. His real mother.

Oh, she's pretty, but appears broken beyond her years, and looks too young to have a three year-old child. She feels pity toward the woman for a second, but hastily remembers what Caleb had told her about his mother. That she'd left him with his aunt to go shopping, and had run off. That he'd never seen her again. That she'd only sent him one birthday card when he was ten. Any hint of empathy dissolves, for that woman shattered Caleb's childhood, and perhaps made him into the jaded person he is now. It's unforgivable, in her eyes, to break the spirit of a child.

Frowning, she takes the picture with her when leaves the guest room. Though she doesn't particularly want to look Caleb in the eyes right now after all he's done, she knows she has to give this back to him.

* * *

She approaches him at his locker the next day with an evident air of hesitance trailing her with each step. The hallway is practically empty, as the final bell has just sounded, sending most students into their classrooms. At first, he doesn't notice her, until she clears her throat impatiently and folds her arms. His eyes widen, and looks as though he thinks she must have gone crazy, talking to him after all this.

"Hanna…" his voice's confidence dies in her presence. She knows that he's going to continue if she doesn't interrupt him, and she doesn't really want to talk about the whole agreement with Jenna right now. So, she pulls the picture out of her purse, and holds it out to him.

"I-I found this, in the nightstand, in the guest room. It…wasn't really hard to tell it was yours." He takes the image in his hand gingerly, and grins a little. He seems secretly overjoyed to have it back. Although she knows she's supposed to be furious at him, she can't help but want to smile back, "Is…is that your mom?"

He nods, and tries to smile, but it doesn't appear that he make himself feel fondness at the memory of his mother. He looks away from her and into his locker, "Yeah. It was when I was three. I, uh…couldn't find it," he clears his throat, "I knew it was at your place. I kept it there, back when…" _When he lived there._

"Why did you put it in there?" He raises his eyebrows, as though he thinks she thinks that he must have planted it there so she would feel sorry for him.

"It's the only picture I have, of her. Of us…together," he says that like it answers her question, when in reality, it doesn't. She concludes, suddenly, that he must've thought it was safe in her house, in that nightstand, where no one would find it. She swallows. He thought of her house as a _safe haven_, where he could keep something that meant the world to him.

"You know, you could've just… asked me to get it for you. If I'd-"

"You wouldn't even look me in the eyes, Hanna. How was I supposed to ask you for anything?" he counters, and she lowers her eyes. Caleb sighs, and closes his locker, "I'll be on my way, now."

"Do you ever miss her?" she blurts out all of a sudden, just seconds after he's turned to leave. The question catches him off guard, and he looks at her, scowling.

"Well, there's no point in missing someone who'll never come back, is there?" he cocks his head to the side. He tries to shrug off her inquiry, but it's obvious that he cannot ignore the feelings she's making him face.

"Caleb…I…I miss my dad. A lot," she almost cringes at the truth of the words, "Even if he'll never come home. It's…okay to miss someone."

He looks down the deserted hall, then straight in her eyes, "Yeah. I miss her." He begins to walk away only an instant after he speaks. She knows he thinks that he's said enough; he's never been one for details.

"Wait!" He stops, but doesn't turn. She exhales, "If you still need a place to stay-"

"Oh, don't worry, princess," he briefly turns his head to look at her, and smirks, "I found a very comfortable bench down at the bus station."

He stalks off shortly after that, his backpack slung lazily over his shoulder. She watches him until he's out of sight, listens to his footsteps until they are inaudible to her ears, and she doesn't quite know why. She knows things between them are still broken, and perhaps they can never be fully fixed, but she does, however, feel that they're a little less shattered than before; that maybe, with enough glue, they can be decently repaired.

She closes her eyes, and in the backs of both eyelids, she can only see that photograph of Caleb and his mother. She wonders where she is now. She wonders if his mom ever thinks of the little boy she left behind, if she ever regrets leaving him. She wonders if he can ever smile like that again. She wonders when the last time he was truly happy was. She wonders if _anyone _can ever make him that happy again.

Deep inside, she wonders if _she _wants to make him happy again.


	9. Tossing Stones

**Note: **Takes place after 1x21.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing you recognize.

* * *

Nine

* * *

**_Tossing Stones_**

* * *

_Tap._

_Tap. _

_Tap._

At the rather disconcerting sound of the three successive chips on her window, Hanna's head pops up from her homework. Her heart becomes lodged in her throat; dread makes all haste to gather in her stomach. Oh God, someone must be trying to get in…

_Tap._

Her first instinct is to call out for Caleb, but it occurs to her that he's long gone, off to Arizona. Hell, he's probably halfway there by now. Her mom isn't home, and there's no one here to protect her, now. What if it's A? What if it's Ian, coming to kill her too? No, no, no…

_Tap._

She sets down her pen, and, though her knees are shaking like mad and her heart is pounding and her palms are sweating, she makes her way over to the window. She half expects it to fly open, and for a pair of hands to grab hold of her neck, but nothing of the sort happens. Hanna pushes the glass open, and analyzes in the scene outside. She sees no one climbing the vine below her window or standing on her rooftop, and she lets out a sigh of relief. She does not, however, bother to look down, where a dark figure stands, a fistful of little stones clutched in its palm.

"Hanna."

All of a sudden,_ his _voice registers in her mind, and she takes the breath right back into her lungs almost as quickly as it was expelled. Her inner calm is gone in an instant, destroyed by the boy standing under her window who was tossing stones to get her attention. She fights the urge to slam her window shut and leave him all by himself in the cold night, but something stops her. She recalls his face just moments before he'd boarded that Arizona-bound bus. His eyes had practically been _begging_ her to come over and speak to him, and she'd only walked away like she'd never seen him in the first place. Hanna can't find it in herself to shut him out once more. Some tiny, foolish voice inside her head is rejoicing that he came back to her.

"_J-Jesus_, Caleb," she clears her throat; stands up straight. Quickly, she smoothes out the practically nonexistent creases in her pink blouse, and hugs her body when a breeze whistles through the air, "Shouldn't you be… in Arizona?"

Hanna can't see his face, for the dark hides it from view. She can just barely make out the outline of his body, and only because it is illuminated from the gentle lights above the garage door. Other than his voice, she has no proof that he's actually there, that this isn't just a dream – or a nightmare.

"Can I just…come up, Hanna? I want to talk."

"We're talking perfectly fine right now," she hisses back, and he sighs.

"I…I couldn't stop thinking about you, Hanna. The whole time I was on the bus, I couldn't get you out of my mind, okay?"

She swallows what she was planning to say. He's struck her speechless, and her brain grapples for something, _anything_ to say to counter his words. They don't seem like lies, though; they seem so very genuine that it makes _her_ feel like she's done wrong. Though Hanna can't see his eyes, she can feel them fixated on her face, soaking up every iota of emotion that her countenance happens to betray.

"I-I…Y-You…"

"Let me finish," she hears him breathes out and in within the same second. She nods, biting her lip, "I tried to forget you. I tried so _fucking_ hard to forget you. But…I told the bus driver to let me off, when we were almost a day out of Rosewood. I hitchhiked back. I had to see you again, Hanna."

She can hardly hear him. Her heartbeat is just about the only noise in her mind, growing louder and louder with each word out of his mouth. She closes her eyes, takes a few, deep Yoga breaths, and tells herself not to give into his charm and _oh why can't she just shut him out_? Hoping her brain will finally get the clue and hate him again, she opens them, but she still feels nothing more than a vast yearning to jump into his arms.

"…and I don't know what I have to do to make you forgive me, but I'll do it. There's…nothing for me, in Arizona. But you're here. And-"

"Come around front," she blurts out, surprising herself and Caleb. Strangely, she realizes that she doesn't want to take it back, "I-I'll unlock the door."

She closes her window, and runs down to the front entrance of her house on unsteady legs. Her breathing is heavy with anticipation. The fact that she's only just polished her nails slips her mind; she couldn't care less at the moment. All she knows is that she needs him, _now_. In all her days, she's never felt this desire to see someone so strongly, before.

She pulls open the door with one swift motion, and he's already standing there, one backpack in his hand and the other slung over his shoulder. He drops both bags, however, when her eyes come into contact with his. She feels her mouth form the smallest of smiles, and she makes no effort to turn it into a scowl. They stare at each other for a prolonged moment, and she looks him over - head to toe - while he does the same. Hanna thinks he looks like he's lost sleep, and she's well aware that she appears the same, seeing as she's barely been able to close her eyes for the two nights he's been gone.

Before she knows it, she's moving toward him, and he's doing the same, and their lips are attacking each other's with newfound fervor. She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him closer to her body, noiselessly commanding him _never _to leave again, because she doesn't know if she'll be able to handle it. They can barely breathe, but neither is willing to stop. She ends up pressed in between Caleb and a wall, and his hand becomes entwined in her hair. Somehow, it feels…_right_, as if he's an essential part of her body that's been missing for far too long.

"_Shit_, I missed you, Han," he whispers during the short seconds in which their mouths are not occupied, "I love you."

At this, however, she pulls away, but does not unlace her hands from around the back of his neck. The three words hit her like three bullets, and she doesn't know whether she's terrified, or happy, or if she feels the same. She's not certain she's fully ready for _'I love you'_ again. Caleb perceives this shock, and frowns.

"You didn't get my letter?" he asks, his voice lowered. She shakes her head. Hanna tries to regulate her breathing, but fails, and only ends up feeling like she's going to pass out.

"W-what letter?" she squeaks.

"The letter. I gave to Mona, for you. She never… gave it to you?"

"N-n-no," she says. She'll think of Mona later; right now, she's only concerned with the fact that he's just told her that he _loves_ her, and she isn't sure that she can say it back. Oh, believe her, she _wants_ to, but something is holding her voice in.

"I mean it, Hanna," he presses their foreheads together. She still doesn't feel any less frightened. She's afraid of loving another boy, after her messy breakup with Sean. She's scared that Caleb will leave again, and take not only her heart but also her _'I love you'_ with him. She realizes, all of a sudden, that she's utterly petrified of letting people in, if they will only abandon her later.

"I-I don't…" He seem to understand, and waits patiently while she stutters, "Caleb, I just don't know if…"

The next thing she knows, her legs become exhausted, and she can't find the strength to stand on her own any longer. She falls into his chest, and lets him hold her, for she's been standing alone without him for too long, she thinks.

"You don't have to say it back, princess," he says with a smirk. After a minute, he breaks the embrace, and he looks her right in the eyes, "I can wait. I'll be... here."

Hanna smiles, and leans in, and kisses him again.

* * *

When Ashley Marin returns home from work late that night, she strolls past her daughter's bedroom to see if she's still awake. Hanna's bedroom light is still on, and the door is slightly ajar, so she decides to peek her head inside. She sees a strange boy in bed with Hanna upon first glance, and for a moment she panics, until she looks closer and sees that the boy is Caleb. Much to her relief, they both still have their clothes on, and appear to have only fallen asleep together: Hanna's face buried into his chest, Caleb's arm around her.

Smiling a little to herself, her mother turns off the light.


	10. Tent Talk

**Note: **Written as the missing 'morning after' scene, set in episode 1x19.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing you recognize.

* * *

Ten

* * *

_**Tent Talk**_

* * *

She wakes up in a place that she's sure isn't her room, seeing as there's only half a blanket covering her body, and what she's laying on is _very_ uncomfortable. Though still a partial captive in the world between consciousness and slumber, she can feel a dull aching in her body, stemming from her lower back. Really, it feels as if she's slept on the ground all night…

Oh, wait. She has.

Last night's memories are finally unchained from their bonds, and scurry back into her mind, while her somnolent eyes soak in the rays of sun that drip from the tent's ceiling like a stream of endless, liquid gold. She does realize that she's in a tent, in the middle of a forest, and for a second, Hanna wonders why she's spent the night here of all places - but when she rolls over, and hits a sleeping body next to her, she remembers.

She's here because of Caleb, the boy who is now awakening beside her. His eyelids slowly peel themselves open, and as they do, she glances down at her body to make sure that there is still some article of clothing covering, at the very least, her chest. She breathes a sigh of relief when she realizes that she's still wearing her bra, but pulls the thin, dark green blanket over her arms anyway.

"Good morning, Hanna." She bites her lip, although she's grateful he seems to have graduated to addressing her by her given name, instead of 'princess,' or 'Marin.'

"Oh my_ God._ I had sex with you," she finally recalls the last - and most important - detail of last night with something akin to a mix of delight and horror. He rubs his eyes, and smirks, making no effort to cover his shirtless body as he sits up.

"Was it really _that_ bad, princess?" he runs a hand through his hair and chuckles as her eyes fly around the tent crazily, searching for the way out. She'd thought they were making process with the nicknames, but, at the moment, that is the least of her concerns.

"N-no! I mean, _no_. I-it wasn't _bad_; it was…good. Really. It was," she looks at him and smiles weakly. Still, he is not entirely convinced.

Really, it _was_ good, but the atmosphere is far too tense right now for her to even _begin_ thinking of last night, of all he'd _done_, of where his hands had _gone_…

Nope, she thinks. It _definitely_ wasn't bad.

"You're smiling," Caleb lowers his voice and wiggles his eyebrows, and she realizes that she'd been grinning while reliving the night, "You liked it."

Her words adopt a playful edge in reply, and the sense of being ill at ease fades away fast, "Maybe I did. Maybe I didn't." _Oh trust me; I did._

He laughs under his breath, and she reaches over to find her shirt. Her hand gropes around for it for several seconds, but stops suddenly when she feels his lips brush the back of her neck. Right away, she knows this is his attempt to stop her from putting on her clothing. Hanna shivers, and tries to push him away, but her body doesn't quite _want_ him to stop. She's never felt true sexual hunger before – even back when she'd tried to force herself on Sean - and the still-alien feeling sends tingles shooting through her arms, her legs, her chest. Faint, pink color blossoms onto both her cheeks. Before she can blink again, her face is lightly shaded crimson, and, still, he shows no sign of stopping.

"What was your favorite part?" he whispers against her skin. His voice is raspy, and when she hears it, she grabs his hand and digs her nails into his palm. Perhaps it's because he's frustrating her, or perhaps it's because she knows that if he gets her going now, she _certainly_ won't be home before her mom calls the cops to report her missing.

"_S_-_s-stop_ _it_. I h-have to get home. My mom's probably…_really worried_," she stifles a moan by pulling a shaky breath in through her mouth, because dammit, he just won't _quit_. He does not heed her command, though, and continues kiss the exposed, pale patch of flesh on her neck tenderly.

"Answer my question, first."

It's quite clear to her that he's not going to pull away until she answers, so she swallows, and forces her voice up through her throat, "T…that part…where y-you did that-that _thing_…with your… h-hands," Hanna stutters out vaguely. Oh, she never _can_ think clearly when he's kissing her. Her skin crawls when his lips turn upward into a smirk while brushing across her upper arm. She feels every bit the part of the virgin, though a virgin she is no longer.

Hanna knows that he doesn't understand exactly what she's talking about – he'd done quite a lot with his hands - but she doesn't really feel ready to talk about the…specifics of last night, yet.

"You know, there's plenty of time to do that again," he murmurs. She finally snaps out of her trance, and shakes her head.

"No. I…I need to get home, just…to tell my mom I'm okay, and sh-shower. I'll be right… back." At last, she moves her body away from his reach, and crawls to the other side of the tent, near the exit.

"You're killing me, Hanna," he groans, while she attempts to comb her hair with her hands. She smiles. It makes her feel good to know that she can make him feel this way, to know that he longs for her, wants her.

"Yeah, well, try to stay alive while I'm gone," she says, and he grins. Before she turns to leave, though she turns her head to look at him, "Caleb…was that your…first time, too?" she asks him diffidently, innocently.

"Did it feel like it was my first time?" comes his sarcastic response. She must admit; she _was_ kind of half-expecting that. She doesn't even know why she bothered asking; she should've already known. Hanna rolls her eyes.

"You're _so_ cocky," she responds. Thinking over the events of last night, Caleb raises his eyebrows at the inopportune word choice, and she scoffs. She knows perfectly well what his mind must be thinking, "That's not what cocky means, you creep."

Finally, she unzips the tent and lets herself out. Before closing it back up, though, she takes one last look at him, and smiles.

"I'll be right back."


	11. Reversal of Fates

**Note: **I am so very sorry for the lack of updates. I had been surprising myself with my somewhat regular writing schedule, but after a while I sensed a creative drought coming on. But I hope I'll be back for a good amount of time, though, now that school has ended and summer has begun, and I have an abundance of free time.

This one is, basically, an AU of how Hanna/Caleb could have started and progressed, had she been the foster child and he the well-off one. It's the longest one yet, to make up for months of nothing.

* * *

Eleven

* * *

_**Reversal of Fates**_

* * *

"_What if you were me, and I were you?"_

"_That's pretty deep for you, Marin. So, which Lady GaGa song is it from?"_

"_It's not _from_ a song, idiot. How would we have happened? If you were rich, and I was…well, poor."_

"_Ouch. I was just called poor."_

"_I just wonder…"_

* * *

She steps into her new high school on her first day wearing a pair of ill-fitting, ripped jeans and a shirt too big for her frame. Already, she can sense that she's being stared at. People like her don't go to this school and she knows it, but her foster parents insisted on sending her here and wouldn't budge on the decision. Immediately, Hanna Marin hates everyone in this school, and she thinks, in a way, that they hate her too.

Hanna knows she doesn't have much – if anything – in common with the kids that go here. They all have shiny cars and indoor swimming pools and nine hundred thread count sheets to sleep on every night, and what does she have? A backpack, what she can barely call street smarts, and, as she likes to think, an impeccable taste in fashion that has, so far, gone undiscovered by humanity. If anyone knew of her love for clothes, they'd think her talents wasted in the body of a poor foster girl with no real house to call home. As of yet, though, no one bothers to care what she can do. She hasn't had a real friend in years.

Brooding in silence, she draws a deep breath into her lungs, and walks down the hall, alone.

* * *

On the other hand, it isn't his first day of school; he's been here since freshman year. He's wearing what just about every other guy is wearing: new jeans with no holes in them, and a plaid shirt neatly washed and ironed by his family's housekeeper. Caleb Rivers likes to think that he fits in nicely with all his fellow rich kids and friends – in all aspects of his appearance except his hair.

He's obstinately refused to cut it for years, despite numerous threats from both his parents to take the keys to his Mercedes Benz away if he doesn't. He knows they're only bluffing, anyway. They'd never take his car, because then their driver would have to drive him around town, and God forbid _they_ be forced to operate a motor vehicle for more than five minutes. Besides, he likes his hair. It gives him character; it's just about the only thing that makes him unique in this town.

Like most every other in Rosewood, his family is swimming in cash, thanks to his father's phone company and wise stock market investments. Although he personally doesn't really need any extra money, he has started a small, underground phone hacking operation in Rosewood, using his familial knowledge of telephones. He enjoys breaking the law; he always has. He knows that he has everything he needs and more, and by doing what he does is jeopardizing that, but he honestly doesn't care. He behaves for the most part at all the public events his family drags him to. He gives them that much; he keeps up the façade of a model son who will one day inherit the family business. Can't he afford to have a little fun?

So, with two of his old friends by his side, he walks down the hall.

* * *

The first time they notice each other isn't special. Right before first period, she only notices the dark haired boy occupying a locker near hers, and he only notices the blonde girl in torn jeans whose locker happens to be located right by his. They don't speak. In a way, they sense that they won't like each other. It's an unspoken thing, in Rosewood; that barrier between the rich and the poor. No one tries to break it. No one speaks of it, either, but everyone is aware of its existence. She intends to stay on her side, and he on his.

Caleb maintains these intentions until fourth period ends, when several of his friends approach the girl with the locker near his and begin to cause trouble. He watches from a distance for a moment, pretending to be busy in his locker, but his eyes dart to the girl almost immediately once he hears her exclaim something rather loudly, in a combination of shock and fury. Caleb doesn't hesitate, then, to walk over and push his way into the throng of guys surrounding her.

"What's going on?" his voice makes her blink in surprise. She thinks he sounds mad, and she can't say she understands why. She doesn't even_ know_ him.

"Rivers, man, we were asking her just what kind of _favors_ she does for her guys in the hood," one of his friends, Sean Ackard, responds with a laugh. Caleb shoves him aside.

"Rosewood doesn't have a _hood_, Ackard," he spits. He isn't sure why he's so pissed off, but, really, what can she have done to them? Caleb realizes that he hasn't even made eye contact with the girl standing only inches from him, and so his gaze leaves the idiots around them, and arrives on her.

Hanna looks away the instant she sees he's staring at her, and bites her lip. She runs a hand through her messy, long hair. She didn't need saving; she was just going to kick one of these morons in the groin if all else failed. Hanna feels her blood boiling. She doesn't need some random rich asshole to champion her cause, especially when said random asshole won't stop_ staring_ at her like some creeper.

"Way to kill the fun, Rivers. Screw this. I'm out," Sean scoffs and walks away. The domino effect hastily takes over, with the boys gradually dispersing one by one down the hall. Soon, they are alone, and she's still avoiding his eyes, and he still won't stop looking at her.

"Hey, you okay?" Caleb asks her softly, kindly. Finally, she brings her gaze to entwine with his, and he sees that she's very, _very_ angry. Hanna feels his surprise, and smiles at the rich boy with icy eyes. She desperately wants to insult him in some way, but she can't bring herself to it. He did, after all, make those cavemen go away, and she supposes that he didn't _have_ to.

Still, she hates him. She hates him, and every other stereotypical rich kid in Rosewood. Hanna exhales, annoyed at her inability to say a mere _'screw you'_ to him, slams her locker, and struts off down the hall. She's so mad that she can hardly think, and turns the nearest corner just to rid herself of the sight of him – even though her next class is in the opposite direction. People like him make her sick; people who have everything, and decide to take on charity cases. He should just be happy with what he has, she thinks, and leave her the hell alone. She won't be anyone's good cause.

Caleb, on the other end of the hallway, thinks and does nothing, and only watches her walk away. For the rest of the day, whenever his mind idles, he finds his thoughts drifting back to the girl with mysterious eyes and ripped jeans and unfriendly eyes. He can't forget the anger she had practically effused, her palpable abhorrence for everyone around her. He just wants to know why she's so _livid._

And it takes him a while to realize that he doesn't even know her name.

* * *

"Tell me your name."

He pops up at her locker the next day, and, despite all the silent, furious looks she throws his way, refuses to go. Caleb's never felt more despised, really, but he's used to being loved by everyone he crosses paths with, so he finds himself almost _enjoying_ being hated by this girl, who still won't say a word to him.

Hanna doesn't answer, and Caleb thinks, suddenly, that he wants to hear her speak, too, even if it's only to tell him to leave her alone. He can't explain his fascination with this girl. He doesn't attempt to rationalize it in his mind. She's like nothing he's ever seen before in the sheltered community of Rosewood.

"You can only ignore me for so long, you know." He sees her roll her eyes, and he smirks, continuing, "So, you're new here?"

"Why are you doing this?" her voice bursts forth from her mouth indignantly, before she can hold it back, "What, is it some kind of rich kid joke? Befriend the poor girl?" she breathes out all at once, happy and yet irritated that he's letting her talk, "I don't know _what_ the hell you want from me, but I'm not saying thank you. I could've gotten out of that yesterday all by myself. I didn't need your help."

He recovers from the initial shock of hearing her talk – _at last_ – and answers wryly, "Well, I guess it's just in my nice guy nature to help those in need."

"I was not _in need_," she retorts. _In need_. Oh, _that _sets her temper ablaze. Hanna hates being called that: poor, needy, in need_. _She isn't _in need_, for she decided to stop needing things long ago. And _God_, she hates this guy. He's just like a leech, a barnacle. He needs to_ go_. She'll kick him if it's necessary.

"If they'd decided to go farther, you wouldn't have been able to get away." She scoffs. _Yeah, right. _He's just a pretty boy who's never been on the streets, abandoned. What does he know? Caleb tries to lean against the locker next to hers, but Hanna hits his hand away before it can make contact with the cool metal. She does _not_ want him getting comfortable around her. She steps closer to him, and he thinks her eyes look like they're about to catch fire, shoot lasers, and kill him all in mere seconds.

"I will _never _thank you for doing that," she hisses. Hanna doesn't care if she's being overly dramatic about the whole thing. She didn't need it. She didn't want it. She owes him _nothing._

Caleb grins. He likes her; he's never met anyone like her before, someone who doesn't seem to need anyone and resents help, and is so pretty but so guarded.

"I don't expect it, princess," he says, and then promptly leans against the locker like he'd tried to do shortly before.

She scowls, "Don't call me that."

* * *

She still won't tell him her name – to be fair, he doesn't tell her his either – so he's settled on calling her princess, though he knows it irks her. Every single day, he arrives at her locker after fourth period, under the pretense of protecting her from the morons who bothered her on that first day of school. Really, he does it because he finds himself drawn to her. For the first few weeks, she avoids him, but as the fall turns into winter, she actually begins to look at him when he speaks to her.

On the thirteenth day of December, she laughs at one of his jokes. Immediately, his gaze becomes glued to her face, and he cocks his head to one side. For a reason Hanna cannot fathom, he seems astonished that she's laughed at something he said.

"You laughed," he observes the obvious aloud with perceptible surprise. Hanna raises her eyebrows, and retrieves a book from her locker.

"Yeah, it's hard to believe that poor people can find things funny too, isn't it?" she says sarcastically. He smirks the stupid smirk that has begun to haunt her dreams, and folds his arms.

"Yeah, and it's hard to believe that rich people can have a sense of humor too, isn't it?" Hanna narrows her eyes. She's never had anyone counter her in the way he does, to talk back to her, and she must admit: it's nice to have someone to banter with.

Caleb doesn't say anything else to her that day, for the bell rings seconds later, but he does walk away with a smile on his face, and a feeling that he'll know her name soon enough.

* * *

"Hanna. My name is… Hanna."

After three and a half months of "protecting" her by her locker, Caleb learns her name. She looks up at him almost timidly when she says it. Hanna feels as though she's exposing a secret, vulnerable part of herself by just telling him her name, even when a proper introduction is a mere formality, really. He's just about the only student here who knows her name, she thinks. She doesn't know why she's been so wary of telling him.

"Well, then, you can call me Caleb," he extends a hand for her to shake in mock greeting, and she just looks at him.

"I can _call _you Caleb, but is it your name?" she inquires dryly, causing him to chuckle.

"Yes, Hanna, it's my name." Finally, she takes his hand and shakes it lightly, even though she deems it pointless since they've already known each other for months. After a moment, she pulls her hand away, and there is silence between them.

"Caleb _is_ a rich kid name," she tells him quietly, and he nods.

"Guess so," his voice is low. Hanna feels like the temperature in the hall has gone up ten degrees, and her knees feel weak. Christ, all they _did_ was exchange names. Hanna knows this attraction is mutual; she can tell by the look on his face that he feels it, too. She curses herself for being so open to him, this rich boy, who's probably guaranteed to break her heart in the end. But he's leaning in, and before she can come to terms with what's happening, his lips are upon hers.

He's gentle, she thinks. He isn't aggressive and rough like most of the guys she's kissed before. She knows that if she tried to pull away, he wouldn't stop her, and she's never felt that before, either. She's never been kissed as if her lips are fragile, like china. She's never had a boy look at her like he's amazed or mesmerized, as he is looking at her, now that they've broken apart. She's never had anyone keep her in an embrace like this before, with his forehead pressed up against hers, and with his hands resting on her waist like they're content never to touch anyone else ever again.

But then her defenses kick in, and the walls around her heart come up. Everyone she's ever cared for have hurt her, have they not? She's never had anyone stay for her, care about her enough not to leave. What if he leaves? She knows he very well could. He's rich; he could find happiness enough in his mansions and cars, and ultimately decide that he doesn't need her. And Hanna is utterly _terrified_ of being deserted.

His eyes haven't left hers, yet. The pair does not hear the bell ring. The moment has frozen; a pause button has been pressed on time somewhere, somehow. She smiles, finally, and he reciprocates the expression.

"Caleb…" she rasps.

"Princess," he addresses her by the familiar nickname and pushes a strand of her hair away from her flushed face. She can feel his heart beating under his shirt, and it's pounding just as hard as hers.

"I'm not a princess," she mumbles. Is he mocking her with the nickname? She doesn't think so, but she's just about the farthest thing from a princess there is.

He raises his eyebrows, and leans in to whisper in her ear, "You're _my_ princess."

Hanna pulls away from him, but she's smiling the biggest smile she's displayed in forever.

"I'm sorry," she singsongs playfully as she strolls away, "I can't hear you under all that cheesy crap."

* * *

One day, while they're lounging around together on the couch in the school library, he notices her reading a fashion magazine.

"You like fashion?" he wonders aloud.

She tears her eyes from the page, "Yeah? Why? Is that hard to believe?"

"No, it's just…you don't seem to…" he realizes that he's talked himself into a hole, and stops, turning back to his history textbook.

"Wear much of it?" she finishes for him with a knowing smile and beings to read the next page, "Newsflash, money bags, I don't have the cash to buy any."

"You know that if you ever need money-" She all but throws the magazine in front of her down at his words. Oh, no. He did not just bring_ that_ up.

"You are _not_ giving me _any _money, understand?" she fixes him with a pointed stare until he nods. Only then is she willing to chance the subject, "So, what kind of hobbies do you have? Stamp collecting? Crocheting?"

"Crocheting, princess?" he laughs at the outlandish suggestion.

"What? I don't know what you people do in their spare time. Probably golf…" she mutters.

"If you count hacking as a hobby, then that's my hobby," he tells her. She looks at him like he's crazy.

"You're a hacker? Isn't that illegal?"

"Depends on what you're hacking."

"I can't believe you, of all the stuck-up rich kids-"

"I'm not stuck-up-"

"-Hack things."

"Why? Is it _so_ hard to believe that I hack?" he echoes her words from earlier in a girlish tone, eliciting a giggle and eye roll from Hanna.

"Well, the hacker and the fashionista. What a pair," she mumbles, before pulling out her only nail file and running it over a jagged fingernail. Caleb nods in agreement.

_Oh, what a pair._

* * *

She never _has_ told him where she lives; only that she stays with her foster parents in a less expensive part of Rosewood. Caleb doesn't choose to doubt her, and doesn't bring it up because it doesn't seem like something she wants to discuss. She's only been to his house once, when his parents weren't home, and immediately after she saw the indoor swimming pool and butler, refused to go back. They aren't serious, she insists, and meeting at school and at the movies is fine for her. Mansions make her uncomfortable, anyway.

Late one night in January, as he's walking through downtown Rosewood after finishing up a rather expensive phone job with a client, he sees someone in the distance, shivering in a small alley next to the coffee shop, half curled into a ball. As he gets closer, he determines the person's dark outline is small – almost certainly feminine. He quickens his pace. It's just about freezing outside, and anyone who wants to keep all their extremities on their body shouldn't be out here. Finally, he comes close enough to the alley to catch a glimpse of the girl in the soft glow of the streetlight. When he sees blonde hair, his concern grows, but when he sees the face – the face, oh God, _her_ face – it feels like someone's punched him in the chest.

"Hanna," his voice sounds strangled when he calls out the familiar combination of syllables. She looks in his direction at the sound of her name, and he sees her eyes grow bright with a tiny bit of hope.

"C-Caleb," she stutters. He sprints the few remaining yards between them, and kneels beside her. Without thinking twice, he takes his coat off and wraps it around her, even though she's already wearing one of her own, "D-don't. You'll be…cold."

He ignores her, and helps her to her feet, "Jesus, Han, how long have you been out here?"

"A-a-a while." He doesn't get it. Doesn't she have a home? Shit, he _knew_ she was always acting weird when they talked about her house. He should've known something was up, instead of taking her word for it that she had a place to go to get out of the bitter winter.

"Why aren't you at home?" he's trying to stay calm, but she's making it increasingly hard because she doesn't seem to be concerned at all about her situation.

"H-home? M-my foster parents h-hate me. I…I c-can't go back there. T-they'll…they'll…Oh God, Caleb, I'm s-so sorry-"

"Don't apologize," he puts an arm around her to steady her footing as she walks beside him. He can still feel her body shaking, her teeth chattering, and it scares him. He just prays that she doesn't have frostbite or hypothermia or…

"Wh-where are we going?" she squeaks out.

"My house." At this, she jerks out of his grasp with all the strength she can muster, and tries to hurry away. However, her trembling knees can barely support her, and she ends up leaning on a lamppost just to avoid falling over, tired from her weak exertions. She can't run; she can barely even stand. Reluctantly, Hanna concludes that she has no other place to go but with him. If she stays here, she'll freeze to death by morning.

"_No_," her protests are feeble. He catches her in his arms once more, and she finds, frustratingly enough, that she cannot get away from him. He's too strong.

"Come on. My car's right here. We'll be there soon, Hanna. Hang on." To Hanna, he sounds perfectly calm, but inside, he's scared stiff. God only knows how long she's been out in this sub-zero weather. She could be seconds from death, and he wouldn't even know it. There's so much he wants to know, but he needs to get her somewhere warm, first.

She nods weakly, and it's the last thing she hears him say before darkness becomes all that she can feel – all she can _see_ – just seconds after she sits down in the passenger seat of his car.

* * *

Hanna wakes up underneath what must be five heavy blankets, in a bedroom unfamiliar to her. She panics for a second, as she cannot for the life of her remember how she got here or who brought her to his bed, but then she remembers, once Caleb walks into the room carrying yet another blanket in his arms.

"Where am I?" her voice is hoarse. She doesn't know what time it is, but it looks like daytime outside. She thinks she sees relief flood into his eyes, with the knowledge that she's awake and speaking properly.

"My guesthouse. You passed out on the way home, and I couldn't exactly carry you to the main house, in front of my parents," he places the blankets on a chair in the corner, and walks over to seat himself on the side of the bed. She nods and sits herself up, and moves three of the blankets off her body. Her legs give off a dull ache, but she can move all her fingers and toes, and no part of her body is blue or purple, so she figures she's okay.

"Thank you… for taking me here. I don't know what would've happened if…you hadn't…" she gulps. Last night could've been much worse, had he not intervened. Hanna smiles weakly at him, and he tries to grin back, but she can tell something's bothering him. Eventually, he voices his concerns.

"Hanna, why were you in a dark alley in the middle of winter? Why weren't you… at home?" Oh, he looks so _worried_, and she doesn't have the energy to divert the conversation, so she begins to speak without thinking.

"I…" she feels like crying. She _really _feels like crying. Hanna doesn't want him to know her sob story; the last thing she wants is his pity, but she knows that he's going to need to find out one day, "My foster parents are…awful. They have a biological daughter, and sort of… ignore me. I-I mean, they're really only in it for the money. Reporting them won't do any good. I _hate_ them-"

"They don't… hurt you, do they?" he lowers his voice to interrupt her gently. A look of shock crosses her face, and she shakes her head.

"No, nothing like that. It's more like…neglect. But it's just as bad… if you ask me," she chuckles dryly. He fails to see the humor in this, but stays silent, his eyes locked on her, "I have… no _clue_ where my real parents are. I-I don't even remember their _faces_."

"Hanna…" he drifts off. He doesn't know what to say. He's never encountered this sort of thing before; it's extremely rare in a town like this. He's dumbstruck. He's never had to deal with anything like this, before.

"So last night, I just got fed up, a-and left. But after I left, I-I realized…I had _no_ fucking place to go," her voice keeps breaking on every word, and she knows how pathetic she sounds, but she can't stop talking, "I just kept walking and walking, and I knew it was cold, so _cold._ And then, next thing I knew, I was in that alley, and I heard you, calling my name," she stops talking and looks directly at Caleb, "I don't…remember anything after that. Just…just the cold."

He can't say anything; there are no words for a reply to what she's told him. He settles on just taking her into his arms and holding her as if he has no intention to ever let go. He isn't sure if even that helps, but it's all he can do, he concludes. Words will do no good.

"Stay here," he finally says, after a few minutes of silence pass.

"What?"

"Stay here, Hanna. I'm not… letting you go back there. And you'll freeze, if you sleep in an alley." She pulls herself out of his grasp, and frowns.

"No," she tells him. Hasn't he learned by now? She hates being told what she can and cannot do.

"No?"

"No, I don't want your charity." She hates doing this with him – _really_, she does. She knows he's just being nice, but she also knows she has to fend for herself. She doesn't want to owe a debt to anyone; total independence is what she's aimed for ever since she was little – even if it's too much for her own good.

"It's not charity. I'm just trying to help."

"Well I don't _need_ your help!" she throws the covers off of her and stumbles out of the bed clumsily. Thankfully, she determines that she can walk perfectly fine now, and so she puts on her shoes and starts toward the door.

"Where are you gonna go?" he asks, and it stops her. She has no place to go, no friends that want her, no guardians that will miss her. She has no place but here to stay, but she knows inside that she can't burden him with that.

But Hanna Marin is _not_ a charity case. Not even for him.

"I don't…" she trails off. He gets to his feet to go after her, and so she pulls the door open before he can stop her. She clears her throat and speaks with false confidence, "I don't know."

Hanna slams the door behind her so hard that it makes the bedroom walls rattle.

* * *

However, her resolve soon falters, once she is reminded of how cold the nights are during the middle of winter, and so she shows up at his house the next night, shivering, with her long blonde hair sprinkled with snow and her teeth chattering like mad.

"I didn't…" she stutters once he opens the door. Hanna doesn't know what she can say to him. Here she is, when just yesterday morning she'd sworn she didn't need his charity and stormed out, a fool refusing the only help she's ever been offered, "Caleb, I know I said I didn't-"

He grins at the sight of her, and not because he knew she'd come back, but because he's actually…_ happy _to see her again, "Come in, princess."

She steps in the house, and he shuts the door behind her so the cold cannot enter as well.

"You-you look like you knew I was going to come back," she observes softly. He smirks.

"Call it instinct." Silence pervades the grand foyer of his family's mansion, and Caleb soundlessly holds out his hand to take her coat. Hanna peels it off her body slowly, and hands it to him. He hangs it up, and while his back is turned, she walks closer to him. When he finally turns to her, their faces are only inches apart.

"Caleb, I think…" she swallows, "I think… I love you." There, she's said it. There's no going back now. She's laid her heart out in the open, for him to take or refuse. She's lowered her walls for him; she just hopes he doesn't screw her over. Caleb smiles.

"Well that's great, princess," he tells her in that voice of his that just makes her heart want to _collapse_, "Because I _know_ I love you."

She laughs aloud. She can't remember the last time she felt unadulterated joy like this; it's certainly the first she's had in a long while.

"You know, I never _did_ get to see your bedroom," she raises her eyebrows suggestively. He takes the hint and leads her up the stairs.

When they reach the top, Caleb puts his arm around her shoulders.

* * *

"_You know, I think I'm happy we happened how we did."_

"_Agreed, princess. But hey, you know what?"_

"_What?"_

"_We're hot either way."_


	12. First Sight

**Note: **I did mention in a new Hanna/Caleb fic of mine that I was taking some time off from this, but this idea came to me and it all just poured out at once. It has a lot of Haleb banter, which, I think, is fun to both read and write.

This oneshot would take place a little while before Caleb's first appearance on the show in 1x14, when he was hired by Emily to upgrade her phone. Judging by the way Hanna looked at and talked about Caleb with her, it was pretty clear that she was familiar with him. The reason given was that Sean had his phone upgraded by Caleb some time before, and so, this was born.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing you recognize.

* * *

Twelve

* * *

_**First Sight**_

* * *

The first time Hanna Marin met Caleb Rivers, she was hanging on the arm of none other than Sean Ackard, while he explained to the hacker what he wanted him to do to his phone.

And, the first time Hanna Marin met Caleb Rivers, she didn't like him at all.

It all began when Sean was supposed to take her out on a date right after school, but insisted that he had to make a quick detour along the way to 'get something take care of'. It didn't bother Hanna, who, being in an unusually romantic and lovey-dovey mood as she was, refused to leave his side as they walked down the street in front of Rosewood's coffee shop together. In the distance, she spotted a shady-looking character glancing around as if they were waiting for someone, and upon squinting, Hanna realized that it was a boy, with long brown hair and torn up old clothing. She'd heard about him, this new kid, and she narrowed her eyes. Sights like him were not common in this place.

"What business do you have with that guy?" she asked with a furrowed eyebrow, and Sean shrugged.

"He's just gonna upgrade my phone, get new apps, and stuff."

She laughed, "And is he going to unlock all those Angry Birds levels you can never beat, too?"

"No, Hanna Banana, he's not," he kissed her forehead, and she leaned her head on his shoulder. For a second, she felt so whole – so complete and safe in his arms. Sighing happily, she only moved once they were standing directly in front of the sketchy boy, and even then, she kept his arm firmly around her shoulders. She wanted this shady creep to understand that she was spoken for and protected by Sean and _only_ Sean, because she got a weird vibe from the guy.

"Am I interrupting your PDA session?" he asked. Sean chuckled and shook his head, but Hanna was ticked off. Who did he think he was, anyway? Who was he to judge her relationship?

"What's it to you?" she shot back at him. She wasn't sure, but something about him made her nervous, because he just wouldn't take his eyes off of her face and had hardly even looked at Sean.

"Whoa there, princess," he smirked at her, and she rolled her eyes. Already, she didn't like him. He just about oozed sketchiness, and she absolutely_ resented_ that stupid nickname he gave her. _Princess_. She almost hissed under her breath.

Sean, who had been watching the sudden and seemingly random conflict in silence, finally spoke up, "Whatever, Caleb, man, I need some new apps, and uh, and faster internet, if you can do that too."

"Oh, and add 'Love Story' as a ringtone," Hanna chirped. At this, both the boy apparently called 'Caleb' and Sean looked at her with bewilderment in their eyes. She squeezed her boyfriend's arm, and smiled innocently at him, "You were going to set your phone so that it plays that song when I call, remember?"

Sean thought for a moment, and then reluctantly nodded in agreement. Entertained, Caleb chuckled under his breath, "I'll do my best to get a good selection of Kidz Bop songs on there too."

"Yeah, whatever. So, when can you have it done?" Sean asked, as he handed over the phone into the hands of the hacker.

"Whenever I get it done," the other boy responded bluntly, and Sean didn't question him. Caleb took the phone and put it in his pocket, signaling that the transaction was over and that it would be best for them to leave.

"Come on, Hans. Let's go," Sean began to walk away, but she loosed his arm from around her shoulders and headed back towards where Caleb was standing, typing something on his phone and leaning against a lamppost.

"I'll just be a minute. Meet you in the car." She kissed the puzzled boy on the cheek, before strutting back over to Caleb and folding her arms in front of him. Sensing abrupt movement in his line of sight, he looked up from his phone, and acknowledged her presence with a smirk.

"Is there something I can help you with, _Hanna Banana_?" he drawled out the nickname Sean had addressed her by earlier, and she scowled at him.

"Look, just don't screw him over, okay? I've heard about you. You're… shady," she said, while looking him over from head to toe. Torn jeans, scruffy hair, shoes on their last leg of life…Everything about him was out of place in Rosewood. She couldn't help but wonder why he was here, of all places, where the most commonly driven car was a Mercedes, and where the most commonly held occupation amongst teenagers was 'spoiled rich kid.'

"And I've heard about you, Hanna Marin." Her eyes widened in surprise at the use of her full name, but then narrowed distrustfully seconds later.

"How do you know my name?" she demanded. He chuckled, and the sound exasperated her even more. This guy…this guy was insufferable.

"You're the homecoming queen. Shouldn't every loyal subject know their ruler's name?"

"Has anyone ever told you you're a smartass?" Hanna spat at him.

Oh, she really was quite amusing, "Actually, yes, princess. Just about everyone I've ever met."

She shook her head, "Don't call me princess."

"Don't call me shady, and we've got a deal," he extended his hand for her to shake, and she took it hesitantly, unsure of why she was even still _talking_ to his guy. Before she could think, Caleb suddenly leaned in towards her, so that his mouth was only inches from her ear. He lowered his voice, "Even though, I _am_ shady, and you _are_ a princess."

Her heart was beating fast, as a virtual stranger had never treated her like this before, had never looked at her and talked to her as if he already knew everything about her and could see right through her. Caleb unnerved Hanna, and yet, he intrigued her at the same time. But, this guy was sketchy, she reminded herself, and she intended to keep her distance from him. She had enough mystery in her life already – any more and she might as well have been living in a Nancy Drew novel.

"Goodbye… shady," she said, breathless, as she turned to head back to Sean's car.

What Hanna heard next was only what she expected, "Goodbye, princess."


End file.
